Nice to Meet You
by Jobes
Summary: An AU story where no one's a werewolf, everyone's got a secret, and our boys are lonely. Think Teen Wolf meets Heroes meets One Tree Hill, but totally more realistic...? Drama, angst, fluff, bromance, romance, all rolled into one. BAMF!Stiles. Dereks not an asshole, his life is just sad and he wants friends. Scott wants to be a superhero. Things happen. Slow burn Sterek. Scissac?
1. Chapter 1

New story I'm working on as my brain explodes with ideas. Trying to be a bunch of things at once, but will most likely devolve into angst and fluff as the story progresses.

Read, review, follow, advise, whatnot! Let me know if any of it even makes sense/is mildly interesting. You can find it on Archive of Our Own as well. The fic on AO3 will most likely be further along/updated first. Future notes will be at the bottom.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

He notices his eyes first. They reflect the bluish-gray of the winter sky, shy and timid in the pale light cast by the iron-wrought lantern hanging beside the front door. He sees the remnants of fear and doubt dancing beneath the lashes, belying the soft smile on his lips. Delicate, golden curls fall haphazardly from above, damp from the light snow. He reaches out to shake the outstretched hand.

"Isaac."

"Nice to meet you."

They turn away for a second to stare at the tall, oak wood door, contemplating the tendrils carefully engrained along the edges. Isaac raps his knuckles against the frame a second time, louder than the first. He presses the bell, but hears no sound in reply. He sighs and steps back, turning to face his companion again.

"So…" He traces a figure eight in the snow with the toe of his boot. "What's your name?"

The other man turns, startled.

"Oh sorry. Derek. Derek Hale."

Derek catches himself staring again. There's pain hidden behind the eyes, and folds of distrust. Derek quickly snaps his head around to the door. He can't lose himself to this. Not right now. Isaac, however, looks at him curiously. He clears his throat and turns his attention to the engravings.

"I'm assuming you also got this?"

Derek's eyes dart to the worn piece of cardstock Isaac pulls from the inside pocket of his coat. He nods.

"Any idea what it's about?"

Derek shakes his head. "Still don't know how I convinced myself to actually come here."

Isaac laughs, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. Me neither. Kind of crazy, right? Dad was wondering why I wasn't coming straight home from school for winter break. Had to lie about where I was going to be tonight. Told him I was staying an extra day or two for work. You?"

Derek huffs out a stifled laugh. "Don't have anyone I need to lie to."

There's a brief moment of silence.

"I see."

Catching the other boy's eye, Derek smiles reassuringly. "My uncle doesn't really care what I do."

Isaac's lips twist up in a solemn grin. "Yeah. I feel you."

The door suddenly swings open, sweet holiday tunes and dazzling golden lights spilling out onto the front steps.

"Ah, I see you two have already met! Brilliant!"

The man beams positively at the two younger men standing before him, pausing for a short second before ushering them in.

"Now, then, come along, it's getting cold, and you're just in time. The others have just arrived. We're still waiting on one more, though, so make yourself at home!"

Derek starts as a woman appears at his side out of nowhere.

"Mister Hale," she bows her head with a smile, "Can I take your coat for you?"

"How did yo– nevermind," he says shrugging out of his jacket. "Thanks."

He looks over to Isaac, who appears to have had a similar experience, as the woman walks away with two coats in her arms toward a large closet down the hall.

"I guess we should go sit down?" Isaac says with a shrug. Derek nods and follows him through a doorway into the living room.

He's a little taken aback at the scene. To his left is a roaring fireplace, the flames licking dangerously close to the emerald garlands wrapped around the sill. The walls are painted a dark, warm red that contrast sharply with the gold-lined couches situated in a half circle around the fire. A large Christmas tree stands in the far corner, ornaments sparkling in the shine of the chandelier situated high above in the center of the ceiling that seemed to dip away from the ground, defying any sense of gravity.

"This is… odd."

"You're telling me," says a boy standing up from his spot next to the fireplace and reaching a hand out to Derek. A girl with fiery red hair smiles politely from behind.

Derek pauses for a moment, taking in the individual before him. His eyes are large and warm, golden like honey around the edges. He feels a wave of compassion and joy flowing lazily towards him, but senses something else hidden a little deeper down. It almost feels like anger, but he can't be sure.

"Stiles," the boy grins as Derek steps forward to shake his hand.

"Derek," he says, smiling despite himself. But as soon as he looks away, the feeling fades. He takes a seat next to Isaac as Stiles resumes his place on the ground in front of the other girl.

"Lydia, you said?"

"Correct, Isaac," she says with a grin, crossing her legs.

"So, that guy at the door must be, uh, what's his name," Isaac fumbles for the card he was holding just minutes ago.

"Dodlinger. Michael Dodlinger," Derek answers, having memorized every word on the card since its receipt three weeks ago.

"Yeah, that's him," Stiles says, pulling his own card, identical to the one in Isaac's hands, from his jean pocket. "Hasn't said much though. Just kind of ushered us in and told us to 'make ourselves at home.' But I can't really complain. Have you _seen_ the spread in the kitchen?"

"Oh right! I forgot about that. Food _does_ sound great right now," Lydia muses, absentmindedly twirling a stray lock of hair in her fingers. "But I would really like to know why we all received these–" she pulls a carefully folded card out of the bust of her dress "–same invitations out of the blue. Luckily my parents know who this guy is. Otherwise, can you say _creepy serial killer?_"

"You actually know who this dude is?" Stiles flails, turning to look up at the girl.

"_I_ don't, but my parents do. Apparently he's an incredibly rich philanthropist that's been donating loads and loads of money to the Beacon Hill's Institute of–"

"Wait, you're from Beacon Hills, too?" Derek interrupts. "Sorry, didn't mean to cut you off. I grew up there."

"No way! Me too!" Stiles exclaims, rising again from his spot to take a more accessible seat across from Derek next to Lydia. Isaac raises his hand with a smile.

"Me too."

Stiles's face contorts through a wide range of emotions, before settling on puzzled. "But, how did we never run into each other in school? I feel like we're all the same age and there _is_ only one high schoo–"

"Beacon Hills High was huge Stiles," Lydia uncrosses her legs and leans forward. "I think the better question is why we're all here and why he invited us all at the start of winter bre– "

"STILES!"

Derek and Isaac turn collectively towards the source of the noise – a blur of messy, brown hair hurtling across the room straight into Stiles, whose eyes light up. He catches the newcomer in his arms with an excited yelp.

"What are you doing here Scott? I thought you said you were going home!"

"I _did_go home, for like an hour," Scott says, settling down next to his friend. He waves at the others with a grin. "Hi, I'm Scott." They nod and smile.

"Mom told me I got this invitation from some big shot in town to come by his home for… oh what did she call it?" He scratches his head, digging into his pockets for the card.

"_An evening of holiday cheer for extraordinary people,_with _extraordinary people,"_Lydia drawls, tracing the ink on the letter in her hands. "How trite."

"Yeah, that! Mom told me that your dad said you got sent the same thing. Apparently he did a pretty thorough background check on the guy, so she felt comfortable letting me travel down here for the night."

"As if Sheriff Stilinski would have let me out of the house otherwise," Stiles chuckles. "Wasn't too far anyway. Just an hour south on the train from Beacon Hills."

"But this place is really obscure," Isaac interjects. "Why would someone as supposedly prestigious as this guy build a house out in the mountains? I swear I thought the taxi was going to slip backwards down the slope on our way up."

"You know, I think that…"

Derek pulls out his own invitation, carefully rereading the text for the hundredth time while tuning the other voices out.

_To Mister Derek Hale,_

_You are cordially invited by Sir Michael Dodlinger to his home in the hills of Beacon Heights for an evening of holiday cheer, for extraordinary people, with extraordinary people._

Today's date is printed below in bright green letters.

He sighs, bringing his hands up to rub at his temples. Looking at the others sitting around him, he can tell that he's a little older, having just graduated from university this past summer. The letter had come at a strange time in his life. No more school. No job. No family.

There's a fat wad of cash sitting pretty in his bank account that he feels no need to use. Rather, doesn't _want_ to use. It reminds him too much of why he even has that sort of money in the first place. His Uncle Peter calls from time to time to check up on him, but it's no substitute for a parent.

He had scheduled no plans for the holidays, and something about the letter had drawn him in. Perhaps the _extraordinary_ bit, which he had felt as far away from as possible. He had also needed an excuse to pull himself out of the dark well of loneliness and self-pity he had fallen into ever since his sister…

_Laura._

His mind wanders back to the end of summer, just three months ago. The call from the police. The anguish. The anger. The–

"Well then!" Dodlinger announces, cutting through Derek's thoughts. He looks up at the others, frozen in conversation. He catches Scott's eye and for a brief second is overcome with a strange giddiness. It slips away instantly. "I'm glad you're all here!"

"Is it… just us?" Lydia asks, eyebrow raised.

"Well of course, this is a gathering of _extraordinary_people, and not that many people are truly–" He pauses, a strange look in his eye. "–exceptional."

Isaac and Derek share a mutual shrug before turning back to the man behind them.

"I know you are all wondering why you're here, though I would suspect that some of you may already have an idea. Let me introduce myself. My name is Michael Dodlinger, Chairman of the Society of Cognitive Research and Development and benefactor of the Beacon Hill's Institute of Psychology." He stops, looking the crowd over. "Have any of you ever heard of 'Wave Mutation Theory'?"

Lydia cautiously raises her hand.

"Ah, excellent, and not surprising at all. Well, in that case, I don't believe you need me here anymore. Please, enjoy the food, grab some drinks, and have a good time. Taxi's will be here in two hours to take you back to your respective homes." With a bow, the man begins to back out of the living room.

"Wait a second," Stiles says, raising a finger in question. "That's it? You didn't explain _anything_. Why did you invite us all here tonight? Aren't you the host? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, _hosting–"_

"Ah, Mister Stilinski, I am but the catalyst." And then he's gone before Stiles can get another word out.

"Well, fuck," he mutters, sitting back down in between Lydia and Scott.

"Yeah, and looks like a storms picking up outside," Isaac points at the windows along the far wall. "Might as well do as the man says. And eat."

It takes a while for any of them to wrap their heads around the situation, but eventually they file one by one into the kitchen where beautifully plated dishes span the length of a long dining table.

"So no one else thinks that this is weird?" Stiles asks once everyone is seated back in the living room. "Also, you think this food is safe to eat?"

Lydia pauses for a second, but takes a bite out of her biscuit anyway.

"Too hungry to care."

"I'm sure it's fine, bud. Your dad checked this guy out, remember? I doubt someone of his status would be trying to poison us anyway. He seems like a nice enough dude," Scott says, patting his friend on the back.

"Stiles has a point though. This is _definitely _weird," Isaac says around a mouthful of wild rice. "The fact that we all showed up is also surprising. I thought I would be the only one crazy enough to travel down here just for some holiday party."

"Like I said, Dodlinger apparently has a _great_ reputation in Beacon Hills, in the scientific world at least. It's an honor to get invited."

"Wait, Lydia, what did he mean by 'Wave Mutation Theory'?"

She stops with her fork halfway to her mouth before lowering it back down to her plate.

"That's actually the weird part. I don't know why he mentioned it… or… I guess it could make sense, but…"

"So…? What is it?"

"Well, I read about it in one of my classes at Berkeley."

"No way! Stiles goes to Berkeley too!"

"Scott, focus."

"Right."

"And it's a little outlandish, but not totally out of the realm of possibility. Basically, the theory states that there are people in this world whose brains give off different wavelengths than normal. And, wait a second, no wonder his name sounded so familiar. I think I once read that Dodlinger actually invented a device, kind of like an advanced EEG machine, that can detect these waves without having to attach a bunch of electrodes to the subject's scalp. It's quite brilliant really." She stops to take a sip from her wine glass. "They call it the 'omega wave.' It's supposed to be a product of advanced cognitive functions, or mutations of some sort. These people are said to have abilities, kind of like–"

"Like X-men?!" Stiles exclaims. Lydia lets out a hallow laugh.

"Sure, I guess, but nothing as crazy as comic books go. It's physically impossible to shoot laser beams from your eyes, Stiles." Stiles visibly deflates into the couch, Scott rubbing his back reassuringly.

Derek's brows are furrowed as he stares pointedly at the ground.

"So why do you think he asked us about it?" Isaac asks, voice soft.

"I mean, I don't…" Lydia begins, but trails off, looking away and out the window.

"He said he wanted all of us to meet."

"But I've known Stiles my entire life. Why would I need to meet him here?"

"There are other people here, buddy."

"Don't you think it's strange the rest of us never met in high school if we're all from the same place?"

"Well you do look awfully familiar…"

Closing his ears off to the other boys' conversation, Derek looks up at the redhead across from him, whose eyes are still trained on the snow beyond the window panes. Her brows are creased downward in concentration, lips slightly downturned, hand playing with a curl behind her ear. She turns to meet Derek's gaze. He loses himself briefly in the hazel and gray, settling in the calm around the edges. Deeper, he senses a subdued panic, masked by the stillness at the surface. He can almost feel the glass walls shooting up, pretending to reflect something unreal, temporary.

"….yeah, but why us?" Isaac whispers, leaning back into the cushions.

Derek closes his eyes and sighs.

"Because he thinks we're _extraordinary._"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Stiles knows how to act, how to lie_. _Stiles can pretend. He's good at that. He can do feigned surprise perfectly. Maybe.

"Wait, really? Us?" He waves a finger wildly between Scott and himself, laughing dryly.

Derek merely shrugs, shifting back in his seat. He raises an eyebrow at Stiles and leers. Their eyes connect briefly. Stiles fidgets.

"What, you got something to hide?" Derek asks, arms crossed. Lydia sighs, leaning forward and propping an elbow on her knee. She cocks her head toward Stiles, smiling insistently.

Stiles doesn't fail to notice the way that Derek is staring at him, his expression slowly morphing to something slightly less probing, a little more open. Stiles takes a mental note. There's something interesting there. Something a little off. But then again, isn't that supposedly why they're all here in the first place?

"I wish, man. I'd be the first person to jump at being the next Ice-man, or Wolverine. Childhood dreams of mine, actually." He stares wistfully over at Scott, who nods furiously in understanding. There's a pause before Derek and Lydia laugh, breaking whatever sliver of tension had developed, and the conversation resumes. He takes the opportunity to slip out and refill his cup.

Stiles decides on the less obscure bottled champagne, pouring a generous glass for himself. He turns and leans back against the marble countertop, slowly sipping and listening to the others in the other room.

"...but wouldn't it be awesome to have, like, actual claws? I'd _kill_ to be Wolverine. Or anything with claws. I'd even settle for being able to transform into a puppy."

Stiles grins to himself, hearing Isaac's laughter through the doorway. For the longest time, him and Scott had been inseparable, to a borderline dangerous extent. But they've gotten used to being with other people now, what with college and all—forced separation. For Stiles though, it had always been nice, incredible in fact, having each other when neither of them had much else.

He turns his attention to the storm outside through the kitchen window, mulling over Lydia's words. Stiles doesn't know exactly what he expected from tonight, but he can say for certain that it wasn't this.

But still, it all makes a strange amount of sense to him. This _wave mutation theory._ Would explain a lot actually.

He wasn't kidding about the acting and pretending part. He might not actually be all that great at it, but he's definitely had the practice. Almost fifteen years ago exactly, the Sheriff had taught him that, sometimes, lying is necessary to protect the people you love. Or at least to protect Stiles himself, who both his mom and dad undeniably loved.

Stiles knocks back the rest of his glass. He hates reminiscing, but can't stop his mind from wandering given the strange turn of events.

"_Look Dad! Look what I can make them do." Stiles flails at the space in front of him. The Sheriff looks on with concern, with the tired expression of having to witness something he would rather avoid entirely for the rest of his life. This time, however, he actually has to stifle a chuckle._

"_That's nice, Stiles," he says warmly. Stiles beams at his father, dropping his hands and jumping into his lap at the kitchen table._

"_I'm glad you liked it! I like it when you smile. I always hear Mommy telling you to smile more, so I'm doing my best to help!"_

_It's almost impossible now for the Sheriff to follow through with the conversation him and his wife had agreed was necessary. He looks up to see her leaning against the kitchen doorway, eyes soft and kind, smiling reassuringly._

"_I appreciate it, Stiles," he says with a smile. "But hey, I want to talk to you about something. About, what you just did, actually."_

"_Isn't it cool?" Stiles exclaims with a toothy grin._

"_Yes, it is. It definitely is somethin' else…" he murmurs. "But maybe…" He looks over towards the doorway again. "Maybe you shouldn't do this anymore. Or at least, don't... tell other people about it." His heart clenches at the frown that flushes down his son's face._

"_But… why? I thought you liked it?"_

"_It's just something that your mother and I think that other people won't… appreciate as much as we do. And we don't want others to think differently of you because of it."_

"_But you're always telling me to be myself! And that if anyone can't accept who I am, then that's their problem."_

_The Sheriffs sighs, wiping a hand across his forehead._

"_I know, I know, and you normally shouldn't. About anything else. But just this once. Just this one thing."_

"_I can't even tell Scott? He's one of my only new friends at school. I like Scott!"_

"_Yes," he exhales. "Even Scott."_

"_But I—" _

"_Honey," Stiles looks up at his mother who takes a seat next to them. "Just do this for us? For mommy and daddy? It would mean a lot."_

"Whoa, that's like right down the street from me!" Scotts voice cuts through his trance. He blinks a couple of times and combs a hand through his hair. Placing the glass on the countertop, he walks slowly back into the living room to rejoin the others.

* * *

An hour goes by, and Stiles can tell that the five of them have been exhausting any possible small talk to continue dancing around the question at hand—are they all super heroes or what?

_Okay, maybe just a lot of wishful thinking there. But still… There has to be a reason why these other people are here._

Stiles looks over at Scott, who has his arm thrown around Isaac. He can appreciate that the blonde is trying to look at least semi-amused by whatever words are coming out of Scott's mouth. He's had plenty of experience to know that his best friend's stories are often… lacking.

_Best friend._

It bothers him slightly that the two of them are both here. While Stiles's faith in Scott's reasoning skills is not the highest, he can only wonder if the same thoughts are running through the other boy's head. Seeing him hurtling through the doors had been somewhat of a surprise, especially now given what Lydia has told them about this whole… thing. She had talked about it for a little longer, going into more detail when he had jumped back into the conversation.

"_The research shows that many of these—let's just call them 'omegas' for simplicity's sake—omegas have no idea that they're any different from the people around them. Sometimes their so called abilities don't even manifest in a noticeable way. It's also more common than you'd think. What, don't look so surprised, Stiles. It's not like it's easy to tell just from looking at the person. Like I said, whatever abilities these people have, they're subtle. It's not like people are flying all over the place right now."_

It's possible that none of this is actually true. Hell, for all he knows, Stiles is the only who coincidentally has anything to hide that is at all relevant to the night. Otherwise, it's a little unsettling to think that Scott has been hiding something from him all this time. Though, he supposes that that's major hypocrisy on his part. Then again, Scott's never been good at lying to Stiles, so there's that.

_It could just be… nothing. _

He sighs, burying his face in his hands.

_But how cool would this be if it was actually _something_…_

He peaks through his fingers at the others. Isaac is still listening attentively to Scott, while Lydia looks on, distracted and bored. He notices that Derek is doing that weird staring thing again, alternating from person to person. His expressions change ever so slightly every minute or so. Stiles finds it fascinating and decides to take it as confirmation that there's definitely something up with all of them, whether they know it or not. He'll have to ask Scott about it tomorrow to be sure. For all he knows, it could just be the champagne playing tricks on his mind. He was never particularly good with alcohol.

"The taxi's are here to take you all home." Their heads snap collectively toward the doorway, where creepy-coat-woman, as Stiles has decided is the most appropriate thing to call her—might as well start naming villains, right?—is holding their jackets. All five of them. It's an interesting sight.

"Well then, it's been swell chatting with you all," Lydia says, walking briskly toward the door and snatching her coat from the woman. "But tonight has honestly just been a little too strange for my taste."

Stiles follows the others to the front door, grabbing and sliding into his jacket as well. He peaks around the curtains.

"There seems to only be two taxi's out there," he says. "Scott why don't we take—"

"Hey Isaac! Why don't we just share a cab if you live so close to me. Lydia too, since she's apparently only a neighborhood over." Scott grabs the two and pushes them toward the door without a second glance at Stiles.

_Oh. Something's definitely up._

A cold gust blasts into the foyer as Scott wrenches the door open. The three of them file quickly to the first taxi. Isaac turns to give Derek and Stiles a little wave and a shrug before sliding into the back after Scott.

"I guess, we'll just take that one then?" Derek says, nodding toward the other vehicle. "Unless you want to go with Scott? I'm assuming you guys live close."

Stiles pauses momentarily, looking from the taxi to Derek. He decides to take this opportunity to… investigate. He'll deal with Scott later.

"No, I'll join you. Wouldn't want to leave you all alone on this dark, stormy night," he winks. Derek merely raises an eyebrow and turns to leave.

It all ends a little unceremoniously for such an unexpected night at a place he's never been to belonging to a man he's never heard of. They jump into the backseat of the vehicle, slamming the doors shut. Stiles looks back as they pull out of the driveway, but the front door is already shut tight against the wind.

"We're going to Beacon—"

"—Hills? Yeah, don't worry, I've already been told," the driver says, looking up and smiling at Derek in the rearview mirror.

"Oh… okay."

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes, Derek staring at the snow still falling heavily and Stiles fidgeting with his buckle.

"So..."

"What?"

"Um…" Stiles looks over at Derek, whose face is half shrouded in the darkness. The faint rays of moonlight making it through the clouds dance across his sharp jaw and light stubble. For a second, he swears that Derek's eyes light up.

_That damn champagne. _

"Yes, Stiles?" Derek huffs, crossing his arms and staring back at him. Stiles stutters.

"Y-yeah, interesting night, huh? Fun. Exciting. Haha. Yeah…" He doesn't quite understand why he feels so unnerved. But now that it's just the two of them, the staring seems a little more… off.

"I know you're hiding something, Stiles." Derek says. His lips twist into a half-smirk. He turns back to the window.

"Wait, what? So you think that what Lydia said was true? About all of this wave mutation crap?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're clearly thinking it."

"I'm not, Stiles."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"I can tell."

"What? Tell what?"

Derek turns, slightly exasperated. Stiles doesn't think he has any right to be.

"That you're lying."

"Well, I can tell that you're…" Stiles fumbles for the right comeback, gesturing at the air in front of him. He finds it, sort of. "Staring. A lot. All the time. Yeah. What about you Mister Rico Suave? What's with all the staring? Don't think I haven't noticed."

Derek visibly tenses. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward slightly with his head down.

"What are you talking about." His voice is quiet.

_Oh, how the tables have turned. _

"Your eyes. They like to roam. And then you get all, twitchy, and stuff."

"I—" He looks over in Stiles's general direction, avoiding any actual eye contact.

"See, you're avoiding me now. I can _sense_ these things. It's like I have a sixth sense. You can't avoid this guy." He narrows his eyes at Derek. "I'm on to you."

Stiles lets the silence sit for a while. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times and bites his tongue.

_Fuck it, I need to know_.

"You're an omega aren't you." It's not so much a question as an accusation. Derek doesn't move, his eyes trained on the floor.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Feeling somewhat accomplished, Stiles leans his head back and smiles to himself. It only takes a couple of seconds for it to sink in.

_Holy shit._

He whips his head back to Derek, still in the same position.

"Wait. Really? Like, what Lydia was—"

"Look," Derek growls. "I don't—I mean—" He groans and rubs at his face . "I don't know, Stiles."

"Then it's true. It has to be. _I knew it_. The way you were looking at all of us. It wasn't normal. It was like, you were _reading_ us or something."

Stiles scrambles closer to Derek, his seatbelt pulling taut against his chest. His heart is pumping, mind moving a mile a minute.

"This is _awesome._ What is it? What do you do? What can—"

"Stiles," Derek grunts, putting a hand up to stop the other boy. "I really don't know. It's… it's just been something that's been happening to me lately. I didn't think it was anything, just my own imagination going haywire, especially since my—" He swallows and pulls back. "It just happens when I look at people. When I make any sort of direct eye contact. It's like I can see their souls or something." Stiles tries to stifle his laughter. He really does. Derek glares. "Look, I know it sound stupid, but it's like I can feel who they really are. Know everything about them with just one glance. I can see past the lies… can tell when people are lying."

Stiles lets this all settle for a moment. To be completely fair, he shouldn't find this all that unbelievable, but hearing about something like this from another person. It's different. It's strange.

_It's… nice._

"Which, once again, you were pretty much doing through the entire night. So why don't you—"

Stiles watches as Derek suddenly lurches forward against the back of the passenger seat. His own body twists towards the front as the deafening pop of the front seat airbags explode in the air. His head thrashes backwards hard as the vehicle screeches to a halt. He loses consciousness for a couple of seconds before he's suddenly hyper aware of the ground shaking beneath him. He vaguely hears Derek yelling his name through the heavy pulsing of his temples. The door bursts open and he's being dragged out, arms banging painfully against the frame of the taxi. All of a sudden he's airborne. For a few glorious moments he imagines that Lydia was wrong, and that people really can fly. But then his shoulder crashes painfully against what he presumes is a tree from the crackle of bark in his ears.

"Ow…"

Stile moans as his vision begins to right itself. He's lying at an awkward angle on top of something soft. Derek groans from under him. "Oh Jesus Christ," he rasps, trying his best to roll off of him. He manages to flip face first into the snow, the cold stinging and soothing at the same time. They lie there for a couple of minutes, quiet, save for the heavy breathing. Derek eventually sits up, clutching at the back of his neck. His hand is stained red when he removes it.

"You okay, Stiles?" He asks, carefully maneuvering the other boy so that his face isn't entirely buried in the ground.

"What happened," Stiles groans, trying to push himself up into a seated position. A dull ache shoots through his right shoulder.

"Avalanche. Or something," Derek whispers.

"Wait, what?" Stiles bolts upright, ignoring the pain in his upper body. "Where's Scott? Where's the other taxi? They were right in front of us!" He struggles to get onto his feet. He wobbles for a second, but his legs seem to be okay.

"I don't know," Derek says, shifting to lean against the tree.

Stiles tries to climb up the hill of snow that they must have fallen down. A panic drags at his insides when he realizes that he can't see anything where the road must have been just minutes ago. Nothing but rock and ice.

_No, no, no, Scott… _

He starts running, but his feet get caught in the snow, now up to his knees.

"SCOTT."

"Stiles, wait," Derek calls from behind.

"SCOTT, WHERE ARE YOU?" He yells, struggling to move forward. His foot catches on a branch and he's sent crashing down. His mind is whirling. He pounds his fists hard against the ground, his throat tight and eyes burning in the snow. He stills after a moment, as what remains of the storm drifts calmly and settles on top of him.

A couple of minutes later, he feels an arm wrap around his waist. With a pained grunt, he feels himself being pulled out of the snow. He throws an arm over Derek's shoulder and half-stumbles over to a small clearing where they both sit.

Stiles closes his eyes for a second and feels his consciousness slip.

* * *

"Yeah, we're okay. A little banged up, but alive." He hears someone pacing beside him. "He's fine, Scott. Trust me. He's okay. Just sleeping. Yeah. You guys too, hopefully we'll get out of this soon. Yeah, thanks."

Stiles cracks open an eyelid. "Hoorstt," he grumbles.

"Excuse me?"

He clears his throat and tries again.

"Who was that?"

"Scott. He called. Your cell phone was ringing in your pocket."

"Oh." He can't think of much else to say. "Good."

"Alright, yeah, well I'm going to call the pol—fuck."

"What?"

"Your phone just died."

"Oh. Good."

Stiles opens his eyes the rest of the way, expecting it to be morning. He groans at the pitch blackness around him, save for the mounds of snow glowing in the moonlight.

"How long was I out for?"

"Like, half an hour?"

"That's it?" He sits up, body suddenly aching a lot more than he remembers. "Where's Scott and them?"

"They're fine. Alive, at least. Sounds like they barely managed to scrape through the avalanche, but ended up driving off-road. Luckily they ran into a snow bank, so they're all okay. But the driver…"

"Yeah."

Stiles is calm now. They're alive. Scott and the others are okay. He can even make another great addition to his growing compendium of "Reasons why Scott and Stiles are Immortal." He looks around and falters slightly.

_That is, if we actually make it out of here. _

In one direction is an uphill battle through rock and snow that Stiles has already lost to once. In the other is a stretch of woods that extends endlessly into the darkness.

"Great. We're in the middle of a mountain forest in the dead of winter in the aftermath of a fucking _avalanche."_

Derek takes a seat next to him and nods.

"Yup."

"Should I even bother asking if your cell phone works?"

Derek digs his phone out of his jeans and holds it up. A couple of droplets drip tauntingly.

"Waterlogged."

"Cool."

He tosses the phone into the snow.

"Maybe we should..."

"Yeah, let's go, uh, somewhere. Just give me a sec." Stiles sits for a moment longer with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. "Okay."

Derek stands and extends a hand out to help Stiles up. He groans as he's hoisted onto his feet. He almost doesn't notice how soaked his jeans and clothes are, but thankfully, considering the inordinate amount of snow piled around them and time of day, it isn't freezing.

"The road was winding that way and, if I remember correctly, would have curved this way through the woods on its way out and toward the city," Derek says, swooping his hand around from the top of the pile of winter rubble and into the forest.

"So maybe if we trek through the woods this way we'll eventually hit the road?"

"We should."

"That's good enough for me."

Squinting into the darkness, Stiles starts walking slowly through the trees. The snow is thinner here and he can feel the frozen leaves crunching beneath his feet. The moonlight only grants enough visibility to see a couple of feet in front of them, so they trek unhurriedly.

"What a great night, huh?" Stiles says after a couple of minutes. Derek just laughs.

"Quite."

"But hey, we learned something interesting, didn't we? I mean, met some cool people, listened to a creepy old dude wax philosophical about… nothing. Found out that you're a superher—"

"I'm not a superhero, Stiles."

"Hey, we're stuck in the middle of the woods, it's cold, and you've got this whole voodoo mindreading stuff going on. Let me at least have a little bit of fun." He can tell that Derek's fighting off a grin.

"Fine. Hey you never—" Derek stops suddenly. "Did you hear that?"

Stiles stops mid-step and strains to listen.

"What?"

"It sounded like—there it is again. It's close. Sounds like…"

"Wolves?" Stiles suggests.

"Yeah, but there shouldn't be any wolves out here. Or at least, there aren't any in Beacon Hills."

"Oh, well, apparently Beacon Heights is just full of surprises."

"What do you mea—oh."

A couple of feet ahead, two pairs of eyes glow among the trees, heavy panting the only sound filling the air. Stiles feels Derek's hand clamp on his shoulder and tug firmly back.

"Stiles…" Derek whispers, instinctively taking a step back as a howl rings into the night. However, Stiles stays rooted to his spot. Derek pulls a little harder as the wolves stalk silently into view, their teeth sharp and bright against the dark fur.

"Stiles, come on," he hisses.

Stiles turns to Derek and, for a second, purposefully searches for his eyes. He slips out from under his grasp and takes a couple of steps forward. The wolves stare hungrily at his approach, tongues hanging loosely.

Stiles did a science project on wolves once. He knows that they called for their pack and that more would be coming soon. He knows that he has to do this quickly.

He treads closer and reaches a hand out, now only a a couple of feet away from the fangs. He closes his eyes and focuses.

_Come on now, come on. Work with me here, it's been a long day. _

After a couple of seconds, he cracks open an eye and smiles. One wolf nuzzles the inside of his palm as the other sits on his haunches, looking at Stiles expectantly.

He turns around and almost laughs at the blank expression on Derek's face, his eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. Stiles shrugs.

"It's kind of my thing."

* * *

A/N: My chapters are usually only 1.5-2.5k words, so for me, this length is some kind of miracle. Which is sad, I know. Hope you're enjoying so far! Though its an AU, I'm trying to keep the characters as 'in-character' as possible, so hopefully I'm not failing miserably at that.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

"Take care of him for me, will you?" Scott says, nursing a cut on the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay, thanks. Good luck."

He tosses the phone over to Isaac. "They're fine, they're calling the cops now to see if they can get out of wherever they ended up." He looks past the mound of snow and stone down the road and then back down at their own wreckage. "We should probably do the same."

"Looks like Lydia's already on it," Isaac nods over to where Lydia is pacing with the phone clutched tightly to her ear.

"...down the hill from Michael Dodlinger's estate in Beacon Heights. No, sorry, I don't know the road name. Also, our driver…"

With a heavy sigh, Scott sits down next to the blonde on a fallen log. He can still hear Lydia's voice, changing from an intellectual drone to a muted scream, ringing in his ear. He shivers at the lingering tremble of the taxi losing control as it screeches across the pavement, wheels torn between rock and water; the crunch of metal against ice, bone against glass, as the driver lurches forward upon impact.

"_He's dead," she whispers shakily, pulling a hand back from his neck._

"_We need to get out of here," Isaac breathes heavily. The doors are bent out of shape, wedged deep in the snow. He kicks out with his left foot, pushing the door out further while sending a flurry of shattered glass onto the ground._

_They climb one by one out of the car and crawl frantically out of the ditch between road and mountain. Scott looks behind them at the deluge of ice and rock that hides any evidence of paved road. A panic picks at his stomach when he fails to find the other taxi that had trailed only a couple of meters behind them._

_Stiles. _

"What a night," Isaac says with a grim smile. Scott blinks, pulls himself back to the present.

"Tell me about it," he huffs. "Great bonding experience, eh?" He smirks bleakly at Isaac, who's clutching his right arm close to his body. His eyebrows dip in concern.

"You okay, dude?" Scott carefully reaches out toward him, but Isaac pulls back.

"It's fin—it's _fine, _Scott."

"No, it's not. Look, you're bleeding all yourself." He moves forward a little more forcibly and carefully pulls Isaac's arm away from his body. There's a long gash running along his forearm, and a couple of smaller cuts along his wrist and elbows. "Glass?"

Isaac nods, wincing at the touch.

"Don't worry," Scott smiles reassuringly. "My mom's a nurse. I've been watching her do this for _years_. Mostly to me and Stiles."

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a roll of gauze. He laughs at Isaac's raised eyebrow. "I'm always prepared. Don't judge my skills though. Limited supplies." He nods up toward the sky. "And only the moon to guide me." He cautiously lifts the other's arm, wrapping the gauze tightly around the wound until most of his forearm is covered. "Sorry, it needs to be a little tight to stop the bleeding." He closes both hands around the make-shift cast to apply a little pressure. An abrupt warmth fills his palms as he presses tightly against the wound.

_Interesting._

Isaac looks up from his arm to Scott.

"What is—"

"Huh?"

He pulls away from Scott slowly, eyeing him hesitantly. He brings his left hand up to rub at the cast. Scott looks at him warily, shrugging.

"How's it feel?"

"Um… good. Pretty good, actually."

"Great." Scott chuckles apprehensively, pats him on the back, and turns to face the other direction.

_The hell…_

For Scott, the entire night has been, enlightening, to say the least. It was the first time he'd been invited to anything so supposedly prestigious or even singled out as an individual of interest. It was definitely the first time he'd ever heard of "wave mutation," and though he has a vested interest in being a mutant of his own right, there has never been any reason to suspect that any of this applies to him.

_Well, until now. Maybe. What?_

Seeing Stiles at the house had been reassuring, at first. His mom always jokes that the two are attached at the hip, but no one can understand the true extent to how much Scott needs Stiles in his life—to keep him in check, to keep him upbeat, to keep him alive. The trauma of an abusive father had severely hindered his ability to trust anyone other than his mom. It left him lonely and confused as to what he had ever done to upset his dad; why he would just up and leave them and never look back. Then Stiles showed up, an obnoxious, pestering kid who wouldn't stop asking him why no one came in on "bring your dad to school" day and who eventually became the one person he could confide in everything.

So naturally, he could tell the entire night that Stiles was acting differently. It wasn't very hard, really. Stiles isn't as good as he believes he is at hiding things, which makes the entire situation a bit more problematic. You see, Stiles doesn't usually hide things from Scott. When he does, it worries him, pulls on some strings of deep seated insecurities, raises the threat of unanswered questions and trust.

He looks down at his open palms, flexing them open and close.

_What was he trying to hide? Or has been hiding from me? Could all of this be… really happening? _

"Hey guys, we need to start moving. Police have no idea where exactly we are, but are on their way to this general area. They suggest walking along the road until we get to some landmark, especially since it's getting cold." Lydia looks at the remnants of the crash behind them. "Looks like there's only one way to go, anyway." She starts walking ahead.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Scott says, standing up and brushing the snow off his jeans. As he reaches out to help Isaac up, he notices the roughness of the other's palm, the small cuts and scrapes amassed from climbing through the wreck barehanded. And suddenly, it's there again—a soothing heat, flush against their palms. Scott lets go as soon as Isaac's up on his feet and shakes his head, hands in the air.

"I have no idea," he mouths silently at Isaac's puzzled look as they stumble to catch up with Lydia. They walk slowly, maintaining a little distance.

"Are you…" Isaac whispers, gesturing in the space in front of him with his hands.

"What?"

"You know, the whole…"

"The whole _what_?"

"_Omega_ thing," he says, dutifully using finger quotes. Scott trips a little.

"What do you mean?" He shoots a sideways glace at the other boy, knowing that there's very little else he could be referring to. At this point, he's beginning to believe that this may all just apply _a little bit_ to him. Strike two and all.

"Your _hands._ They're really warm." Isaac blushes faintly under Scott's amused stare. "I mean, like, _abnormally _warm, like you're just radiating a crazy amount of body heat or something."

"Oh," he glances down at his clenched fists before stuffing them into his pockets. "I don't know, dude. I really don't know what's—"

"What are you two whispering about?" Lydia cuts in, staring at them over her shoulder. Isaac looks startled. Scott merely shrugs. She eyes them suspiciously for a second before turning back around.

"I don't know what it means," Scott sighs. "And I don't understand why it's happening now."

"Perfect timing, I suppose."

"Seriously."

They share a look, awkwardly grinning in muted understanding, before stepping in line with Lydia.

* * *

The three of them walk in silence along the dark pavement, following its curve downhill where the road begins to flatten out. Scott looks one way to Lydia, whose eyes are focused tightly on the path ahead, and the other to Isaac, whose gaze darts sporadically from point to point.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm just…" Isaac scratches the back of his head. "Are we all going to ignore the fact that we saw a guy die today?"

"We didn't technically _watch _him die," Lydia quips.

"Yeah, but still. It's weird. Disturbing."

"It was an accident, Isaac."

"I know, it's just unsettling."

"I feel you," Scott says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You guys act like you've never seen anyone die before," Lydia says, rolling her eyes.

"I… haven't."

"Have you?"

She pauses mid-step, mouth slightly parted.

"Yes."

She quickly resumes her normal gait, flipping a strand of hair back with a quick toss of her hand. Scott looks over to Isaac, whose eyes widen. Neither of them question it.

The mouth of the forest slowly materializes in the darkness as they approach the point at which the road breaks away from the hill to wind through the trees back to town. From a distance, Scott hears a sound. Kind of like a howl.

"Maybe we should stop here? Who knows how long we'd have to walk through the forest before we got out. It might be easier for the police to find us this way," Isaac suggests.

"Yeah, you're right. They should be on their way now, anyway."

Lydia decides to sit on a large rock at the edge of the road with the mountain wall to her back. Scott and Isaac both take a seat on the ground next to her.

"So, Lydia."

"Scott."

"You seem to know a lot about all of this."

"All of what? Walking around lost in an unfamiliar place?"

"No, I mean what we were talking about at the house."

"We talked about a lot of things, Scott."

Scott's positive that he can't be the only one who's constantly been thinking about the same thing since dinner.

"Wave mutation," Isaac mumbles quietly. They both turn to look at him. Lydia crosses her legs and begins to tap one foot on the ground.

"Oh, well… Yes. I mean, I studied it for almost an entire semester last yea—"

"An _entire semester_?" Scott exclaims, surprised. "You made it sound like it was a one class thing! You must know a _lot_ then."

"Well, it's not like I _lied_ about knowing more. I just didn't want to come off as some _freak_ who's obsessed with the supernatural to four people I've never met before. What's your point?"

"There _has_ to be a reason why Dodlinger mentioned it before leaving. In fact, I feel like we're all just idiots trying to avoid saying what we're all thinking because it sounds ludicrous." Isaac sighs. "It's too obvious. He didn't leave much room for interpretation."

"What do you mean?"

"Guy invites us all here together, tells us we're all _extraordinary_, name drops some 'wave mutation theory' and then leaves? And we're supposed to assume that none of it's connected?"

"Well it's _obviously_ connected," Lydia snaps. "People are just afraid to admit that they believe in something so… supernatural. Or more so, afraid of what will happen if they _do._"

"And you? You believe that it's true? That it all exists?" Scott's pretty sure he knows the answer before she even opens her mouth.

"I studied this theory for months," she says quietly. "I was just… really interested, but even the professors thought I was wasting too much time researching something that had yet to be empirically proven. I mean, it all sounds a little too _Hollywood_, doesn't it? People with special abilities? Advanced cognitive mutations? It's not something a normal, sane person would accept without proof."

"So you're saying that we're all insane?" Isaac cocks an eyebrow her.

"Depends on what you believe."

It's more or less a confirmation of what Scott's been thinking all night.

_But why?_

"Lydia," he starts, "I'm not going to ask you to summarize your entire semester of findings to us, God knows I don't have the capacity for it right now. But why do you think he brought us all here tonight?"

"To be honest," she sighs, "your guess is as good as mine."

"You said that he has a way of detecting brain waves without the use of a normal EEG?" Isaac asks.

"Yes, it's what he's become pretty well known for these past few months. I hate making these X-Men references, but think Cerebro, but not as advanced obviously. It only currently covers this immediate region. It's kind of a point of contention right now. Privacy issues and all."

"Wait, so you're saying that Dodlinger somehow picked up on our brain waves and figured out who we were and then invited us all out tonight just so we could get to know each other? That's sufficiently disturbing."

"Explains why we're all from Beacon Hills, though," Scott muses.

"You don't think there's any other reason why we're here? He just wanted us to be friends?"

"Well," Lydia leans forward to look more closely at the other two. "My guess is that it's kind of a test."

"What kind of _test?_"

"To see if his machine is working correctly. See if he can finally prove the existence of 'omegas' in the world."

They're quiet for a couple of minutes. Scott doesn't quite know what to make of everything. But he no longer doubts that there's something very strange and very real happening in his life right about now.

_Am I so messed up to find this all kind of… awesome?_

"So presumably all of us _are_ omegas. And might all have some…_thing_ to hide," he says slowly. Lydia looks up at him and cocks her head to the side.

"Do you, Scott?"

He stares at her for a moment, unsure of how to answer.

_Hell, I don't even really know. _

"Well," Isaac says, "I don't know if it's necessarily hidden anymore." He unravels the rest of the gauze from his wound and holds his arm up. Scott inhales sharply.

"Not a scratch in sight."

* * *

A/N: Story should start picking up now :) Let me know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

It happens briefly. A bright yellow glow that glazes the surface of his eyes. Derek almost misses it, faint in the darkness, as Stiles approaches him with an uncertain grin. The two wolves glare threateningly at him but remain in their place.

"You… can control wolves," he says breathlessly, taking an unconscious step back. Stiles's hand shoots up halfway as if to stop him, but retracts quickly. Derek can't read his expression clearly. He's not close enough.

"Wolves, dogs, birds." The smile returns to his face, eyes clear in the moonlight. "Any animal really. And it's not really _controlling _them. That's a bit too dark and sinister sounding, don't you think?" He glances back fondly at his new companions. "I just _get_ them. And they get me. It's, like, a _thing_."

A year ago, Derek might have rolled his eyes and high-tailed it away from this crazy. But right now, given the circumstances, it all seems to click strangely into place. He takes a couple of steps towards Stiles.

"I see. I mean, that's—" He sees the look of what he can now confidently place as concern flicker across the other's face. "—cool. That's really cool." He smiles at Stiles, whose shoulders visibly unwind. Derek can feel the warmth returning to the boy with a quick glance. He doesn't look away. It's a little odd. It's invasive. And it's bizarre that Stiles doesn't seem to mind.

"Well you've got yours, and I've got mine, so I guess we're two for two."

"No kidding."

Derek can't really help it, as they stand there face to face. He feels the pull of those golden eyes, the draw of another human mind, and suddenly time seems to slow to a syrupy stop. Daggers of bliss and sorrow strike simultaneously in the pit of his stomach as a wheelhouse of emotions drag over him. The love for a father, the joys of friendship, the grief of loss and loneliness. Years of secrecy and deceit break him at the edges; shards of trust fall meagerly to the ground. Memories of lies and misunderstandings flash intermittently among images of a Sheriff, of Scott, of friends from school, and of a woman who fades away quietly. Flights of happiness, of jokes and good conversation, weave in and out among the sounds of laughter and music. Everything attacks his senses at once; it begins to overwhelm Derek, threatens to overtake his own consciousness. He wills himself away and reaches for the distant sounds of Stiles's voice. With a blink, he finds himself staring at a raised eyebrow.

"Are you…?"

"Sorry." He shakes his head, not so much as a response, but so as to clear the thoughts clouding his mind. Stiles raises another eyebrow in return.

"Alrighty then. Shall we?" He nods his head back towards the wolves. "They'll stay with us for now. You know, just in case."

Derek laughs. A little bit of tension drains from his limbs.

"What a strange little world we've just stepped into."

* * *

"I really can't believe they killed off Spider-man. He was the best, you know. Totally underappreciated."

"Totally," Derek murmurs. He nods in agreement, but remains trained on the ground, preoccupied in his own thoughts. The soft thumps of four extra pairs of paws had initially kept catching him off guard, but they now merely blend into the background of the winter night.

_It's a little unfair, isn't it?_

He muses silently over the newfound understanding he has of the boy walking beside him. It's suddenly as if he's known him for years, for all his life even. He's never gone this deep before. Those previous experiences had been surface level, cursory glances into other lives without himself really knowing what was going on. He had scrutinized people through their lies, gotten a feel for their personality, but never like this. Never has he witnessed an entire history with one simple look. Then again, he's hardly ever had the chance.

_And yet he knows nothing about me. It doesn't seem right._

"Stiles," he interrupts him in the middle of another rant.

"What? Are we there?"

"No, I just—I need to talk to you." The forest falls silent around them as they stop walking.

"Well, that's what we've been doing for the past hour or so. You know. _Talking_. If you haven't noticed, there's no one else out here to talk t—"

Derek waves a hand his face. "No, I mean about earlier, when we—I was." He gestures between the two of them. Somehow Stiles gets it.

"Yeah, I figured."

"What?"

"You had this eye-glowy thing going on. It seems to happen whenever you, you know."

Derek considers this for a moment. "You too."

"Huh?"

"Your eyes. Back then with the wolves." He points a finger at the two animals watching them curiously.

"Really? That. Is. AWESOME." Stiles breaks into a wide grin. "I knew I wasn't going crazy earlier, in the car, when I thought—"

"Wait, Stiles, that's not the point. It's not right of me to do that. To breach your privacy like that."

Stiles shrugs nonchalantly, brushing flakes of snow off his jacket. "No big."

Derek cocks an eyebrow. "No big?"

"Yeah, _no big_. You know, the opposite of _yes small_." He rolls his eyes. "But actually. Don't worry about it."

"Look Stiles, you don't understand, I know way more about you than I shou—"

"Derek, I said it's _fine._ Seriously, dude." He smiles frankly at Derek, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "I get it. I trust you."

"You trust me? You don't even know me."

"You saved my life, didn't you?" For some reason, that catches Derek off guard.

"I—I suppose so."

"There you go. And you should be so worthy of my trust. It doesn't come that easily."

"Yeah, I know."

Stiles pauses at that, tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "Maybe this _will_ be a little weird." He laughs a moment later and pushes Derek forward along the path. They step back into their unhurried stroll through the woods.

It's peaceful. It's calming.

_And in all honesty, the entire night's been a nice change of pace. _

"Well, then. I guess if you want to play fair, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself? I would venture to ask what you already know about me, but I think I'm going to stay away from that for now." He smirks at Derek. "You know, for my own sanity."

Derek snorts. "Fair. What do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why don't you tell me about your family?"

"Oh," he mutters softly.

"Unless you don't want to," Stiles quickly spits out.

"No, it's okay. I already know about—" He waves a hand in Stiles's general direction. "—all of that anyway."

"I see. I guess the upside is less awkward silences during the whole 'getting to know you' phase." He laughs brightly, sincerely. Derek can't help but smile.

"Maybe. There's not too much to say, though." He faces forward, his lips curling into a slight frown, eyes concentrating on the path ahead. "My family died in a fire nine years ago. My parents, two brothers, a sister, cousins even. All gone." He notices a nod out of his peripheral.

"The Hale fire." He pauses. "I thought your name sounded familiar. I just didn't make the connection."

"Yeah, well I was out of town that weekend. In New York actually, just trying to… figure out my life or something. For better or for worse, I wasn't there that day in Beacon Hills. Neither was my sister, Laura. We met back the week after. The only person to survive was our uncle, who at the time was charred beyond recognition. He's alive though. Thankfully." For a while, the forest is silent, save their footsteps in the snow. Derek sighs. "He's good now. Tries his best to take care of me when he can. I'm grateful for that."

Stiles's voice is small, cautious. "And Laura?"

"She—" He bites back the words, eyes stinging in the corners.

* * *

_His cellphone blares violently at his side on the floor of the empty apartment room. Wiping the blur out of his eyes, Derek groans at the clock. 3:30 AM._

"_Who the hell…"_

_He looks at the unknown number and thinks about ignoring it. The phone glares insistently, buzzing angrily into the floorboard._

"_Okay, okay," he mutters. "Hello?"_

"_Is this Derek Hale?"_

"_Um, yes, who is this?"_

"_Good morning, Derek. I apologize for calling so early. This is Deputy Sheridan."_

_Derek's heart stops mid-beat, throat dries._

"_Good to hear from you again, Deputy." His voice cracks. _

"_You too." A heavy sigh sounds from the other end of the line. "I'm deeply, deeply sorry, Derek. I know how hard it's been for you these past few years."_

"_What happened, Deputy?" He rubs his temples with a free hand. He's forgotten how to breathe. "Is it Peter? Laura?"_

"_It's Laura. We… we found her body in a corridor of her apartment complex. We were notified by the landlord, who was doing rounds earlier in the evening. I'm sorry, Derek. I wanted to drop by in person, but was unsure if you were home or away for the summer. My sincerest apologies."_

_Derek is silent on the line, unable to produce any sounds. His chest is tight and constricted, mind numb. The officer clears his throat._

"_Please don't hesitate to reach out if you need me."_

"_Do you know what happened?"_

"_It's still under investigation, but it—it looks like homicide. I'll keep you posted. Once again, I'm sorry, Derek."_

"_Thank you," he rasps before hanging up._

_He sits up in bed, sheets barely covering his legs. The air is cold, stifling, and deathly still. Moonlight streams in through the ragged blinds, casting long shadows across the mattress and upon the far wall. He stares blindly forward, head light from the shallow, stilted breaths. The phone slips out of his fingers and clatters mutedly to the ground. An overwhelming panic abruptly wrenches at his chest. Tides of anger wrack his body, spilling hot tears down the front of his shirt. An otherworldly cry rips from his lungs as he lunges forward towards his desk. He swipes a heavy arm out, casting papers and pens towards the ground; the porcelain lamp shatters against the wall. He picks up the wooden chair and sends it flying across the room with a howl. And suddenly, he falls to his knees, arms hanging limply at his side. The phone buzzes beside him. He grabs for it and clutches it against his ear._

"_I need you." He finds himself sobbing noiselessly into the receiver. "Please."_

"_I'll be there soon." The phone clicks._

_He stays frozen there for half an hour, unable to move, unable to formulate cohesive thoughts. He can't make any sense of it. He's already lost so much, how can he lose anymore? Will it never stop?_

_No one deserves this. I don't deserve this. Laura promised. She promised me._

_A knock on the door startles him. He gets up with a groan, knees cracking from the sudden movement. He steps deftly through the debris into the living room. His hand is shaking as it turns the doorknob and pulls the door open. He grabs Peter instantly, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso and burying his face in the crook of his neck. His entire body trembles violently under his uncle's grip. He's 14 again and holding on to the only thing he has left._

* * *

"Hey, you okay?" Stiles asks. Derek clears his throat, reaches up to wipe the moisture out of his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He glares perplexedly at his fingers. "I just don't know if I can talk about her right now."

"It's okay. I get it. We can talk about it, or not, later when we're not lost in the middle of this damn forest."

"Later?"

"Yes, _later_. As in, I'm sure we'll—whoa, is that what I think it is?"

Derek peers through the branches and sees a brief flash of blue and red muffled in the darkness.

"Looks like—"

"Police cars! I would recognize cop lights _anywhere_. You know, Sherriff's son and all. Dude, that means we're—"

"—saved," Derek sighs, relieved. He doesn't know if he can handle anything else tonight. He's exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Stiles hunches down next to their two protectors and scratches softly behind their ears.

"Thanks guys, but we'll take it from here."

Without a second glance, the wolves turn and leap into the trees, disappearing from sight.

They walk a little faster towards the lights, a slight bounce in their step. As they approach the main road, they notice a group of people huddled next to one of the police cars. Derek can barely make out a familiar voice.

"—yeah, they were in another taxi, not far behind us, when—"

"Scott!" Stiles yells, scrambling over the low railing towards the car. Scott turns around. A bright smile stretches across his face, forcing his sentence unfinished. He runs towards Stiles, pounces on him, and nearly topples the two back over into the forest.

Derek grins and waves at the others. Despite the biting wind picking up along the road between the trees, his chest warms at the sight. He somehow feels the grip of loneliness loosening its hold.

* * *

A/N: Thank you guys for following and reading! Reviews and feedback appreciated :)


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